Sweet Darling
by laksanabayushiryuu
Summary: Future fic! "We've already had enough crepes this month. I want something much, much sweeter," whined Murasakibara. The former shooting guard of Yousen raised an eyebrow, "Like what?" Rated M just in case.


This fanfic is actually related to my other story 'Here You are' (AkaKuro) but can be read separately. 'Sweet Darling' was set around two or three years before 'Here You are'. If you are AkaKuro fans, please read HYA too! I love depicting the GoM as adults. They look sexier (in my imagination) *laughs* Enjoy!

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Sweet Darling

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A woman in her twenties was checking a note on her iPad while a photographer began instructing his assistant to move lamps. The room was busy with around five people running here and there. The makeup artist and hairstylist were setting their stuff on a table nearby, occasionally reminding each other about today's photo session's theme. A moment later, the set was ready and the woman who was holding his iPad suddenly became really nervous. Today she would be interviewing a famous pastry chef who ran a successful patisserie in Ginza. Rumor said the man was really hard to be interviewed and apparently had declined many interview offers before. She had visited the patisserie several times herself and always had to wait in long line. She did not mind because that shop's éclair and seasonal pie were to die for. _To think about it_, the woman mused, _there's no picture of him on any previous interviews before. I wonder if he's a handsome man. _She smiled dreamily. _Aaaaw, perhaps he got a look like Kise Ryouta! Would he take me for a tour at his kitchen? Gosh, that must be hot! _

"Uhmmm_, _Sakai-san." The photographer cleared his throat, tapping lightly on the woman's shoulder. "I think our guest has arrived." He gestured at the doorway.

The woman jumped in excitement and turned around. "Good morning, my name is Sakai Harumi fro—" She stopped. Her eyes met a messy shoulder-length, purple haired man who had such a bored facial expression. He was dressed casually—a pair of dark jeans, military style boots, and plain grey t-shirt. He was taller than average...well, tall was understatement. He was huge like a tower! The man's height had to be more than 200 cm!

"Heh, you gonna interview me?" The man yawned then opened a box of Maiubou snack. "So..." He munched. "What's your name again?"

It sounded more like 'whaayannmeggn' since his mouth was stuffed.

The woman blinked. "Oh, uh... My name is Sakai Harumi from Na-na Magazine. You must be Mu—"

"Do you know any good Korean restaurant nearby?" The man cut her off as if he was oblivious about current situation. "Wanna eat dolsot bibimbap for lunch. Oh, is it lunch already?" He glanced at his wrist clock. "Hmm, I guess not. You wanna some Maiubou too? I have another two boxes if you guys want." He lifted up a paper bag and fished out a colorful box with cartoon character on it.

The rest of people in the room could not help but gawking.

"You don't like Maiubou. Okay, then. Let's have the interview. My name is Murasakibara Atsushi. Nice to meet you all." He waved his hand lazily and sat on armchair.

"Uh…" Sakai was still recovering from her shock. The man before her eyes was completely different from her imagination. Well, at least he had a great body but 2 meters! Really! What had the man eaten in his childhood? Gallons of milk? She yelped as the photographer gave him a none-too-gentle nudge on her ribs then straightened her posture. "Nice to meet you too, Murasakibara-san. Uhm, I think we should apply some makeup and…" She cringed when Murasakibara threw him a questioning look. "Uh, you do aware that we are going to have photo session too, right?"

Murasakibara opened a pack of Maiubou, muttering. "Now that's something…"

.

It was not even the end of the year yet but the editors of Shirashi Publisher's foreign novel division were about to rip their hair out. Just an hour ago they had received the news that a translator who had been in charge to translate a French novel had been admitted to hospital. The editor was frantic. There was no way they would publish the translated version of the France's prestigious award winning novel behind the schedule. They only had a short time to find another translator, and since the previous translator was one of their best…

"Is it only me but does this room looks a little bit gloomy?"

The editors abruptly snapped their head up. "Himuro-san!"

A twenty eight year old man with black hair and a mole under his right eye nodded, slightly surprised by their reaction. "Hello," he greeted. "I'm here to discuss my tra—"

"Oh, Himuro-san!" The senior editor clasped Himuro's hands and looked at him in pleading, desperate eyes. "Please, help us!"

Himuro Tatsuya glanced at the people in the room and smiled. "Well, that can be arranged."

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Murasakibara stared boringly at the camera lens. They had taken dozens of his picture and asked him to change the pose several times. They told him to smile but Murasakibara was not in any mood to smile. Besides, this interview was not his idea in the first place. He barely read magazine—except the cuisine ones, anyway. The woman who apparently was supposed to interview him had not asked anything yet so far. She looked overwhelmed. Was it her first time doing interview? Murasakibara shrugged it off. He just wanted to eat his dolsat bibimbap then remembered he had eaten all of his Maiubou. _Should have bought three more boxes, _he thought.

"Uhm, Murasakibara-san?" The woman finally spoke up.

"Hmm?" The pastry chef looked up from his seat. "What?"

The woman looked like as if she was about to have nervous breakdown. "L-let's have the interview now."

Murasakibara lifted his left shoulder. "Hmmm…can I go for lunch now?"

Today was definitely going to be a long day.

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Checking the shopping list, Himuro stepped into a supermarket not far from the publisher company. He decided to shop for groceries there since he knew the one near his home would be full of housewives around this hour. He always tried to avoid that kind of crowd. Not because he did not like housewives but they sometimes could be…annoying. They often greeted and asked him random things such as whether he was a model or actor. Back then when he had been in Yousen High, girls had sent him love letters every day. In Valentine's Day, his shoes locker had been flooded by pink and lavender colored enveloped. He had even attracted male population and some of them had gathered courage to ask him out. Himuro remembered how his basketball team captain, Okamura Kenichi, had glared at him during practice just because Himuro had received so many birthday presents from girls—and boys.

Himuro smiled fondly at the memories. High school had been so much fun. He had been able to play basketball with great team. His favorite member—until now—was Fukui Kensuke because Himuro liked his straight-forward personality. Fukui now worked at an IT company in Aomori while Okamura became PE teacher at Yousen High and replaced Araki Masako as basketball team coach after her retirement. Another member, Liu Wei had returned to China and was the only one who continued playing basketball as professional player. Sometimes he visited Japan for vacation or joint training with Japanese national team. Himuro himself worked as freelance translator. He mainly translated French although sometimes he also took English and Spanish one. Then, there was Murasakibara… The tallest member of Yousen had surprised Japan with his amazing baking skill and earned his place among Japanese pastry chefs.

When Himuro was about to push his shopping cart, his phone vibrated. _"Hello, Himurocchi!"_ greeted a very familiar male voice.

"Hello, Kise-kun," replied Himuro, chuckling, "It's been a while."

_"Yeah, it's been a while!"_ Kise said. Himuro could picture him bouncing like a kid. Kise Ryouta, an internationally famous Japanese model had somewhat become Himuro's friend. They had met again—after high school Winter Cup—in France. Himuro had been a college student studying French culture and literature in Paris when Kise had had his very first Paris Fashion Week job. They had coincidentally met at local café near Kise's fashion show venue a day before the show itself started. They actually had never talked before. Himuro had only watched Kise's match in Winter Cup, and vice versa but they had remembered each other's face clearly. That day, they had spent hours talking and promised to have lunch together once Kise's show finish. Since then, both men regularly had video call once a month.

_"Ne, ne, Himurocchi, can I ask you a favor?"_ asked Kise.

"Oh, sure. What is it?" Himuro pushed his chart to fruit and vegetable section. He was thinking to make tuna salad for tonight. His eyes scanned through the area and finally caught a discount sign. Himuro smiled. The lettuce and tomato were on sale—lucky.

Meanwhile, Kise continued, _"My fellow model…she's having birthday in three days. The agency wants to throw her surprise party. So, could you ask Murasakibaracchi to make a special cake? Please, please?" _

Himuro laughed slightly. "No problem, Kise-kun. I'm pretty sure Atsushi won't mind. Just send me e-mail for the detail."

_"Definitely! And just put it on my tab." _

"Alright."

Himuro heard someone calling Kise's name on the background. Kise sighed. _"I should go now. I'll call you later? Say my hello to Murasakibarachhi! Thank you!" _

"Later, Kise-kun."

Kise ended their call in hurry. Himuro put his phone on jeans pocket then resumed his shopping. By the time Himuro loaded his groceries bags into car, the clock already showed four in the afternoon. He only needed to make one more stop at a snack shop.

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That's it.

Murasakibara officially hated interview. Not only the people were boring but the tight schedule did not allow him to step out to buy Maiubou at convenience store. The photographer kept telling him to change pose. The hair stylist made his hair look like a weeping willow—for lack of a better word. The makeup stylist constantly reminded him to stop rubbing his face in order not to ruin the BB cream (what…the hell? BB? So there was an AA cream? Or AC/DC… Wait, that's a name of hard rock band). He groaned inwardly when the interviewer—an unattractive woman, in his opinion—asked him to describe the difference between Japanese and French culinary school. What was the difference? It was obviously different. Why didn't people just read it on internet?

He tried not to squirm on his seat as the photographer took another candid shoot.

Murasakibara Atsushi did not squirm!

After rows of dreary questions, the interview finally ended. Murasakibara jumped from his seat to grab his bag then took out his phone. He tapped the screen in superhuman speed.

[Where are you?] He texted.

The reply came around ten seconds later. [Home. Have you been a good boy?]

[YES]

[Come home and I'll give you a reward]

Murasakibara's lips curled into a smirk.

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The apartment was not really spacious. It was average sized one but located in strategic area and had a great window view. It faced River Sumida and only several stations away from Himuro's publisher office. He had bought the place right away after he had come back from France. He had had enough saving after three years working at company in Paris, after all. In the beginning, he had been reluctant to leave France. His life had been there. He had had nice flat and great job with equally amazing friends.

He had used to live far away from his relatives. His family, until now, lived in the US while the rest of his relatives were scattered all around the world. His aunt lived in Morocco (she had fallen in love with the bazaar and actually had written some books about it), his uncle worked as archaeologist in Cambodia (he had also married a local woman), and his cousin joined the National Geographic as cameraman (the last time Himuro had contact with him, the man and his team had been sent to Amazon). Himuro lost count on how many phone call he received from his relatives saying they had been moved to another country.

However, moving to Japan had been the only option he had had that time. It had not been his decision, to be exact. It had been Murasakibara's.

"I'm hooome."

Himuro stopped typing then looked up from his laptop. He saw Murasakibara opened the living area's door. The giant had to bend down in order not to bang his forehead into doorframe. Himuro remembered how Murasakibara often hit his head during the first two months here. "Welcome home, Atsushi." The older man greeted warmly.

Murasakibara stared at him.

"What?" Himuro asked.

"You are sooo mean, Tatsuya. You did not tell me about the photo shoot." Murasakibara pouted. "They even applied some paste on my face!" He whined, pointing at his own cheek. "It was itchy."

Himuro blinked. Paste? "Did you mean foundation?"

"Whatever." Murasakibara sat heavily on armchair. "I don't wanna have another interview."

"Come on, Atsushi. It was not that bad, was it?" Himuro closed the laptop and moved to sit on Murasakibara's lap. Their chests were so close and Himuro could feel other man's breath. "It's good for marketing. An Interview means more people coming to your store."

"Our store." Murasakibara corrected. "You own half of the store."

Himuro smiled. "Alright, alright… Our store."

Murasakibara made noncommittal noise before sneaking his hand under Himuro's shirt. "How's your day?" He asked lazily.

"It was fine," replied Himuro, "I went to publisher and—wait, what are you doing with your hand!" He slapped Murasakibara's arm but the taller man only smirked in return. "And they offered me another job to trans—Atsushi…" He sighed. "Could you please refrain from stroking my stomach? You are distracting me."

"Hmmm…" Murasakibara hummed. "Then where should I stroke?"

Himuro rolled his eyes. The man in front of him never changed. He could be very childish and demanding. Himuro wondered why he had liked Murasakibara in the first place. When they had been students, Himuro had envied Murasakibara's talent in basketball. After the Winter Cup, his feeling toward Murasakibara had somewhat changed. They had become more and more close, spending time outside the school together. During those times, Himuro had learned Murasakibara's baking talent. Himuro had also noticed that recipe books and cuisine magazines had been scattered on Murasakibara's bedroom floor.

"Why are you so quiet?" Murasakibara's voice brought Himuro back to present time.

Himuro stared at Murasakibara's eyes as if he was searching something until he asked back, "When did you fall in love with me?"

Murasakibara hummed again. "Well…perhaps since the day you punched me in Winter Cup. I have told you this before, haven't I? Did you forget?"

"No." Himuro remembered one day in spring when Murasakibara had kissed him for the first time. They had been at the school backyard. Their kiss had been awkward yet perfect.

Murasakibara's hand moved to the back of Himuro's head then gently pushed until their lips met. Himuro instantly drew closer and wrapped his arms around Murasakibara's neck. Their kissed slowly, exploring the lips first. Himuro smiled into the kiss while Murasakibara.

"I like you kissing me. You got talent," said Himuro as they parted.

"Yeah?" Murasakibara gave him another kiss on lips.

Himuro nodded, gasping a little as Murasakibara's tongue pushed into his mouth. The air suddenly became really, really warm. "I think it's too early for…you know," murmured Himuro. He tried to get free from Murasakibara but the man had gripped him tightly. "Atsushi…I have to prepare dinner."

Murasakibara pouted in a rather cute way, making Himuro laughed. The dark haired man climbed out of Murasaki's laps. "Why don't you change your clothes and join me at kitchen?"

"Okay," answered Murasakibara.

Ten minutes later, Murasakibara was dressed in worn t-shirt and comfortable sweat pants. He opened the kitchen cabinet and beamed as he found the shelves were neatly stocked with his favorite snacks. He checked the fridge then smiled widely. His favorite Popsicle and beer were there too! He heard Himuro chuckle from behind.

"Kise-kun called me today. He asked you to make a special cake for his friend's birthday. I've forwarded Kise-kun's e-mail to your account so you can read the detail," said Himuro. He pretended not to see Murasakibara sneak some chocolate to his pants pocket. "I also have updated the store's blog. I think we should make a separated section for our seasonal product. Some people are too busy to explore the entire website."

"Sure…" The taller man sat at dining table.

"Oh, and do not mention that we'll give discount for the cake to Kise-kun. He doesn't like it when we treat him different than other customers. But to think that he also helps us promoting the store by posting pictures on his personal blog… Atsushi, are you listening?"

"What am I going to do without you, Tatsuya?"

Himuro put down the soup bowls he had been holding on dining table then stood next to Murasakibara's chair. "Gosh, you are so hopeless."

Murasakibara smirked. "Said the man who moved across the ocean just to be closer to me."

"I didn't. It was coincidence that I got accepted into university in Paris."

"Really?"

"Really."

"You weren't sad when I told you about my decision to study at culinary school in France?"

"No."

Murasakibara leaned forward to encircle his arms around Himuro's waist. He looked up_. "Mr. Himuro, you are such a bad liar,"_ said the man in perfect French, _"If I'm not mistaken, you stopped talking to me for a week after that day. Or…was it just my imagination?"_

_"Yes, Mr. Murasakibara. You were dreaming." _Himuro suppressed a laugh. He cupped Murasakibara's cheeks and caressed gently. _"And I also had a good dream. A dream where a young man stormed inside my room and asked me to come with him to Paris."_

_"What a brave young man." _

_"He is a dreamer."_

_"And your lover." _

This time, Himuro laughed. _"Someone messed with your head. You're becoming smooth talker." _

_"I learned from the best."_ He slowly guided Himuro to sit on sofa, pushing him until his back met its soft surface.

Himuro let Murasakibara peeled off his shirt. "Let me guess… Takao-kun?" He switched back to Japanese.

"Midochin's romantic movies collection," said Murasakibara. He eyed Himuro's pale chest then licked his lips. Before Himuro could comment any further, Murasakibara continued. "He said those were lucky items." He traced Himuro's neck with his index finger. "Ne, Tatsuya, let's skip the dinner and go straight for dessert."

Himuro caught his boyfriend's mischievous smile. "I have caramel pudding on fridge."

"Don't feel like eatin' caramel." Murasakibara shook his head. He kissed Himuro's cheek. "What's other choice?"

"Chocolate cake?"

"Nah… I'll pass." He nibbled Himuro's right ear. "What else?"

"I can make you crepes?" Himuro suggested. He had already had one hand grasping Murasakibara's strong arm.

"Don't wanna…" Murasakibara whined, burying his face on Himuro's shoulder. "We've already had enough crepes this month. I want something much, much sweeter."

The former shooting guard of Yousen raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Like…you?"

The next three second found the two lovers making out heavily on sofa. Feeling each other, moaning over kisses, and listening to their frantic heartbeats. Living with Murasakibara had taught Himuro some things. First, Maiubou was the best snack ever. Second, fighting over snacks was ridiculous (and Himuro would never win). Third, be ready to spend holidays with friends instead of boyfriend because he was busy at his—their—store. Fourth, childish behavior was pretty common. And fifth, sappiness was so sweet that it made you feel like puking rainbow.

Oh, well…Himuro did not mind anyway.

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end


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